A disfunctional Blog
by TheNewestCompanion
Summary: Sherlock's dead. Hailey's alone and she having trouble coming to grips with the situation she's been left in. Her therapist suggested she writes down everything that happen to her since meeting Sherlock Holmes, and in his honor she makes it into a blog, so everyone can know the real story behind Sherlock Holmes' suicide. This is an OC story. Rated T For strong language.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello all! I don't own Sherlock, which in my opinion is a real pity because I'd have Season Three going already. This is an OC story. I've decided to (Sorta) Right it in a diary/blog form but if that isn't working I might switch over to regular story form. I hope you like it :)**

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**Welcome to the blog of Hailey Black.**

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June 25

My therapist told me it might help. To write it all down. From the start. Every little detail I can remember. She said I didn't have to show anyone. Not even her, that it can be for me to look over and sort things out. But I don't want that. If she's going to put me through that emotional hell I'm going to put it out there for the world to see. For everyone to read and know the truth.

She said it might help me realize all my feeling, all my thought, and my emotions are completely understandable… But they're not. Not really. She—everyone keeps saying what happened was for the best. That it's easiest this way. They're fucking off their rockers. _Nothing _is ever 'easier' with Sherlock Holmes. Nothing.

Everyone keeps saying how I feel is acceptable considering I loved him and all that. And they tell me that eventually it'll get better and I'll move on because that's what he would have wanted. But you wanna know something? That's bullshit. Nothing you feel when loving Sherlock is acceptable. It's always wrong and messed up and it makes you head hurt and you want to cry or hit him. And that was the best part.

Because Sherlock Holmes is a hard man to love. I'd say impossible, but if that we're true… it wouldn't be like this. Sometimes I wanted to give up, I wouldn't to tell him relationship didn't work like this, or dates shouldn't end like that. I wanted to cry to him, tell him I didn't believe he even actually loved me. But I never did. I never had to. Because in his own little screw up way, he fixed it, and suddenly I knew. He loved me too.

And the whole 'It'll get better' thing? The 'It's time to move on. He would've wanted it' that's crap too. It won't get better. Ever. It's going to get a fuckton worse. Because I _needed _him. John needed him, and all of you, whether or not you ever even met him or even heard of him, you needed him too. Because Sherlock Holmes' was a good man. Better than the lot of you.

And moving on? That's not want he would've wanted, and if you ever met Sherlock Holmes you would know that. Ego the size of Big Ben, and a Mind Palace to match. When he walked into a room, he had an air about him, an air that you'd never forget. And he knew it. And it made him happy, and smug, and… it made him, him. He would've held on to this, to what he had, with every fiber of his being, even if he'd never admit it.

He killed for me. He paused the British government; he jumped out of a helicopter, and into the Thames, and blew up a whole building for me. And once he even killed himself. For me. For John, for all of us. But most of all, he swallowed his goddamn pride for me. Something Holmes' didn't do.

I saw him jump. I saw him land. But don't you dare ever tell me I saw him die. There's no amount of evidence in the world the can convince me that it was Sherlock Holmes' who threw himself off of St. Bart's.

I'd bet my life on a million other possibilities before I bet that Sherlock killed himself. Because if Sherlock was anything, he was a prideful, if not spiteful man, and the least boring man I've ever met. If he wouldn't let a million and one trained killers kill him. He sure as hell wasn't letting Moriarty do it. Once he said to me, "Suicide. What a boring predictable case it makes. I hate it." So Sherlock Holmes? Do something boring and predictable? I think no.

John might think you're dead, Sherlock. So might the world. But I don't. And I'll be waiting for you.

The address is 221B Baker Street.

The names Hailey Black.

And this is my story of murders, kidnappings, drug raids, a few government crashed, some love, and a whole lot of hate. But mostly. This is my tribute to him. The man who managed to steal my heart.

Moriarty was real. Long live Sherlock Holmes.

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**I hope you likes it! Sorry it was so short, I just needed a way to open it and such. Please review :D **


	2. Chapter 2

_**I'm really sorry this took so long to put up... So busy lately. I hope my new chapters get up a lot faster. Please review. Hope you enjoy. I owe nothing. Read on! **_

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_The blog of Hailey Black_

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June 27

I probably could have posted something yesterday... but I didn't feel like it... And I was going to post something this afternoon but Greg came over.

Greg's been visiting a lot since the death... At first we didn't even talk. We sort of just sat there together. It made it a bit less lonely.

Oh, but I should probably mention John moved out. About a week after the... fall. He just couldn't take being in the flat with all the memories... which is funny because I can take being away from the flat.

I tried to do the shopping Monday and had a breakdown in the milk aisle. Molly was there. She had to drive me home. So now when Greg comes over he usually bring me some shopping.

He and his wife finally got a divorce... I feel bad though. I think he still loves her. I told him he should go out with Molly.. I think she likes him now. But he said he rather not start dating again, yet.

And, I got fired from the clinic... John tried to get them to give me a break, and Sarah postponed it for as long as she could, but eventually they just had to let me offered me a job at Yard. Detective. I wouldn't even have to work my way up. But I don't think I can handle cases yet. Not like this.

So I guess I should probably stop boring you with my life and start telling you about his. Most love stories start with a damsel in distress and a knight in shining armor. But this started with me trying to get Chinese food, and like most of Sherlock's stories, me wanting to punch him in the face.

It was around nine at night on a Monday. I'd just started my first day at my new job. I was working at a bakery. Four years of uni and a science degree later and I'm stuck working at some ma and pa shop. What a wonderful waste of money.

I was living in a small one bedroom flat and barely had enough money at the moment to even pay rent for that. I was actually looking on my phone for another possible part time job when it hit me.

I mean it actually hit me. And it, or rather, he was going fairly fast. I landed on my bum with a small gasp the turned into a groan. That was most definitely going to leave a bruise. Before I even got a look at whomever it was who knocked me over I called, "Watch it ass hole!"

There was some shuffling behind me before a blond man, with a military haircut came to stand in front of me looking slightly concerned. He held his hand out with a half smile,

"Uh. Sorry.. my friend, he doesn't watch where he goes..." the man offered pulling me to my feet. I gave a half grin and brushed myself off, rolling my eyes. Then I heard another voice.

"Or maybe she doesn't watch where she's standing." he offered. I could hear the childish sulk dripping off his words and I laughed as I turned to him, almost tripping over my words when my eyes landed on him, almost. He was a handsome man, black hair falling in front of... beautiful eyes.

"Because that makes sense. I was just standing in front of this restaurant and you plowed me down." I bit arms crossing over my chest. We had a moment of silence as the man regarded me and I stared back with an eyebrow raised.

Eventually the blonde man cleared his throat. We both looked back to him and he gave a small uncomfortable smile.

"Uh... Sherlock? This case... You said it was important..." he said scratching the back of his head. The man, Sherlock his name was, gave the other a half smiled before looking back at me.

"Yes, John, we do have a case, however..." He trailed off looking at me. I glanced around, and uneasy feeling in my stomach before he chuckled, "Nevermind, I thought she might be of some use. I was wrong." I frowned and crossed my arms again.

"Excuse me. How do _you _know I can't offer you know help?" I asked chin held slightly higher. Sherlock scoffed.

"Because Miss...-" I cut him off.

"Hailey. Hailey Black." I offered, smirking softly at him. He returned the small gesture and nodded his head.

"Right, because Miss. _Black _I need someone with an above average intelligence, not a slightly below. My jaw dropped slightly and his friend's eyes widen.

"Sherlock! don't!" He snapped, but that didn't seen to even throw the man off a bit. He continued to smirk.

"I need someone who can use a computer besides to surf 'Facebook' or whatever dull people do." I let out a small puff of hair.

"You listen here Mr. Sherlock-"

"Homes. Sherlock Holmes."

"Yeah, whatever. You listen here Mr _Holmes _I'm not some dull bimbo I-" He laughed cutting me off again.

"Dull bimbo? You work at a bakery, which, honestly requires a very limited intelligence level..-" I clentched my firsts.

"Excuse me! But I have a college degree in Scientific-" Sherlock laughed rolling his eyes at me.

"No need to lie, I think we're all above that"

"I'm not lying!"

"Now, now Mrs. Black I think we-" And that's where I hit him. The look on his face was honestly beyond priceless.

Told you every story with Sherlock Holmes starts with someone wanting to hit him. Well, I have to go, Mrs. Hudson wants to watch telly with me. She's making tea.

I've started to drink it how he used to take it...

Some days I feel like I'm losing my mind.

I'm not. I'm not losing my mind, trust me.

I lost it long ago.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello dearests. Hope you like the story so far! Review so I know what you're thinking! 3 **

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The blog of Hailey Black

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June 30

I punched my therapist in the nose. John bailed me out of jail and Greg convinced her not to press charges. She'll even continued to 'heal' me.

That's what she called it. 'Healing' me. Bullshit. I don't need healing, not the kind she can assist with. I don't even see the damn point of therapy!

Some woman who wasn't smart enough to be an actual doctor, sitting there, nodding her head, pretending to give a fuck how I feel and asking stupid questions like 'Does that make you feel sad?' or 'How does that make you feel'.

Well incase you didn't take the hint, it makes me feel like punching someone in the face. It makes me feel like my insides are being slowly ripped from me, it makes me feel...

Doesn't matter anymore. It really doesn't. John doesn't trust me going alone anymore. Thinks I'll do something stupid, or never even go at all. He's probably right about the second part. John can't seem to take time out of his busy schedule to take me though. Which is funny, because there was a time he'd take off work just to fix me a cup and tea and take a splinter out. And now, honestly, the time I need him most he isn't here for me...

Anyway. Greg promised him he'd take me to and from therapy. I guess that's nice of him and everything, only, I don't really know all of Greg's weak spots. I can't slip away from him to go get tea. But, that's probably the point.

I wish I could tell you something interesting happen to me, but it hasn't. Not since he died, everything horribly boring and still. Not just in my life, but London in general. It seems like even the criminal are lost without him.

I miss the gunshots..

So we left off with me punching Sherlock in the face.

The look on his face, wide eyed, mouth slightly open, a red mark forming on his cheek. It was absolutely priceless. And John, John's face nearly mirrored his friends, minus the red mark and his gaping mouth was more of a gaping smile.

There was a prolong moment of silence and Sherlock brought his hand up to gently touch his cheek.

"You... hit Sherlock Holmes... you actually hit him." His friend sputtered out before laughing, "My God! You're a hero!" I chuckled and rolled my eyes before looking at Sherlock again, serious.

"Mr. Holmes, I don't know what being a smart ass is supposed to do. Make friends? Get girls? Either way you're doing a fairly shitty job. Next time you want to make 'deductions' about my intelligence right in front of me, at least have them right." He looked like he was ready to cut in so I rose my voice slightly and continued. "I'll have you know I graduated from King's college of London. Meaning not only do I have a degree in science but also a technical medical degree and a degree in biomedical science. Not only did I graduate, but I graduated with honors.I could have several different jobs in the medical, and scientific field, that require a very high level of intelligence. Not only that but I minored in international communication and can speak seven other languages fluently besides English so I could have a job almost anywhere. So you can take you insults and shove them up your ass."

Both John and Sherlock were silent looking at me. John was a small look of surprise on his face and Sherlock a look of frustration. I smirked at him, judging off their reacts he wasn't exactly used to being wrong about things.

John cleared his throat, and both Sherlock and I looked at him. He smiled slightly and scratched the back of his neck again.

"Uh.. that.. that's impressive, I will admit, but.. what languages do you know...?" He asked. I smiled at the obviously much kinder man,

"I took... three years of French, three Latin, two Spanish, one of Chinese I hated it, two of Italian, one of Russian, and my brother taught me Welsh." John nodded and a small smug look over came him as he looked at Sherlock.

"There. Sherlock, she's exactly what we need." John said crossing his arms, "She is helpful." Sherlock snorted.

"John, I can translate it myself." He protested, pouting slightly. John rolled his eyes and moved his arms, uncrossing them, and putting his hands on his hips.

"When did you learn to speak Latin?" He asked raising an eyebrow at his friend. I chuckled. Sherlock huffed unhappily and crossed his arms.

"What do you think mobiles are for John?" He asked a biting in his tone of voice. John sighed and rubbed his temple.

"And we go somewhere with no phone connection?" He asked. I watched them go back and forth before jumping in.

"Uh.. Might be a bit nice if someone told me what exactly I'd be helpful with.." I suggested shrugging slightly. Sherlock glared at me for a moment before glaring at John.

"Bring her along. I don't care. But you keep an eye on her and keep her out of my way." He said before turning, coat tail flying behind him and she stormed off to hail a cab. I turned to John.

"I don't think the princess likes me much." I said glancing back at him. John rolled his eyes and smiled.

"Never know with Sherlock, he's... difficult.. And sorry, I don't even know you.. you don't know us. You don't have to come." He offered once again scratching the back of his neck. It was obviously a nervous habit. I shook my head.

" 'S fine.. well, depends on where we're going." I had a think with adventures. Hard to turn one down. John tried to suppress an excited look.

"There was a murder.. And things were written in Latin with the victim's blood... all over the walls..." before I could answer or react Sherlock called over to us.

"Coming or not?" he asked moodily, pout still dancing on his lips. I laughed and nodded to him.

"Yeah yeah, don't get your panties in a twist, body will still be there in five minutes." I assured him.

"I don't want Anderson touching anything! John tell her we can't wait give more minutes bec-"

"We're coming Sherlock!" John assured this time, laughing. I glanced at John again with a small smile and raised my eyebrow.

"He held the cab for us. More than he usually bothers to do. He must like you." John said and I snorted before following him over to the awaiting came and overgrown toddler.

See? No damsel in distress, yet. No love at first sight. Sherlock Holmes isn't a love story.

It's a sorta fucked up story when you really really look at it.

Want to know why I hit my therapist?

Because she said she did some 'research' and from the stories I've told and John's told... She said it was probably best he's gone now. Probably best he died, for my own safety of course. Because our relationship reached all the criteria for an 'Abusive relationship'

Screw her.

Screw everyone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello all... Sorry it took so long. Life just caught up with me I guess. So I don't own Sherlock. I do own Hailey. Uh. Please enjoy :D**

**Chapter 4~**

July 3

They put me on antidepressants.

John got all serious and told me how I /had/ to take them everyday, no if end of buts.

So I flushed them all down the toilet... I'll admit, that wasn't my best idea, but I'm not depressed, I don't need those pills. I'm getting better on my own without medication. Everything would have been fine too. But John had to be nosy. He found the empty pill bottle two days after I got them.

That wasn't even the worst of it. He assumed I took them all at once and rushed me to the hospital. I tried to tell him that wasn't what happen, but I guess when you're on antidepressants and your boyfriend just killed himself, it's safest to assume I took them all.

Greg cried.. He came in after John left. They wouldn't let me go home right away, because apparently I was on suicide watch. Which is bullshit. Watching someone who is suicidal for three days won't stop them from doing it when they got home... but he told me he was worried and he wanted to help me, but I had to help myself.

I told him I didn't need help. Then he sat and we cried. It was nice to have someone to cry with, however morbid that sounds. He made me promise to take my medicine. And watching him like that. Seeing how scared John had been, how for a moment there, it was like I destroyed him. I can't do that to them. I'll take my pills.

Also, I can't afford rent anymore. Mrs. Hudson is giving me a month to try and get money again before I have to find somewhere else to live. I know John's slipping her cash. But even that's not enough when my incomes zero.

Greg said I could stay with him. I can't do that. I can't burden him with my insanity. I'm going to try and get a job again...

"He held the cab for us. More than he usually bothers to do. He must like you." John said and I snorted before following him over to the awaiting came and overgrown toddler.

When we were close enough Sherlock huffed and hurled himself into the cab scooting all the way over and glaring out the window as we waited.

John stopped and smiled gesturing to the awaiting open door,

"Ladies first." he offered and I gave an eyeroll before sliding in next to Sherlock and crossing my arms with a chuckle.

"Getting into a car with two stranger. This is like how to get murdered 101." I joked as John laughed getting in also and shutting the door.

The cabbie apparently already knew where we were going for once the door was shut he took off.

Sherlock was silent for most of the ride before I turned to him, "Where are we going anyway?" I asked yawning slightly and covering my mouth with a hand.

Sherlock glared at me before looking back out the window, eyes searching the window for something interesting.

"Mh. Double murder, both left a suicide note. Only they're not.. normal suicide notes. They're not really notes at all. Words. Spread about the flat, none seem to connect to another. Police think it to be nothing. An odd coincidence. I know better. They're written in Russian. Neither of these men spoke it. The one most likely hardly spoke one language let alone two." Sherlock explained, a mile a minute.

I laughed settling back in the set nodding my head, "Okay. Perfect. You want me to translate then help you discover the relations in these words, and the relations to the people. Yeah?" John smiled and nodded his head,

"Yeah." he agreed, "And.. We're going at night, Because Sherlock got himself banned from the crime scene today. So we're sneaking on. Just so you know." I nod my head and then we plunge into another long bout of silence.

Moment pass and I watch both men on either side of me. Sherlock is in obvious deep thought staring off into space out the window. He's thinking so hard you can almost see the smoke pouring out. I smile softly before looking at John, much similar. He was thinking too, but in a much less boarding sense. Just looking at his hand, which was lazily picking at his jumper. I watch for a while fascinated by the way the fabric pull apart. I could tell he wasn't even aware that we was doing it. A small hole appeared and I frowned putting a hand over John's, stopping it. John looked up at me confused as to why I was trying to hold his hand and I just rolled my eyes smiling,

"You were ripping a hole in your jumper John." I said quietly looking down to where are hands were. John looked too and sighed rubbing his neck with his other hand.

"This ones my favourite too.." He murmured and rubbed the small circle as I took my hand away. I giggled softly.

"If you're good, I'll fix it for you." I teased lightly sitting back again and closing my eyes as the cab continued to ease slowly through the traffic of London. John laughed and nodded looking out the window.

"We're here." The cabbie announced slowing down in front of a house, with police tape all around it. Sherlock was out of the car in a second and John sighed looking at me.

"Guess I'm paying." He said taking a note from his pocket and handing it to the cabbie before getting out and helping me out with him. I smiled at the gentleman act. Together we followed the overly excited detective into the quite abandoned house. As soon as I enter a smell of blood clouded my nose.

Not the tang of fresh blond but the sickening heaviness of dried blood, the kind that seems to hang in the air, and clog each one of your pores. John coughed beside me and used his jumper to cover his mouth and nose. I coughed too but was at a loss of things to cover my face.

I walked through the deathly quiet house, looking over the random articles. Books, and knickknacks and a few dirty dishes. A normal house. With a normal family living in it. A normal happy family who was now dead.

"They both killed themselves in here? This house?" I asked John running my finger over the mantle with picture of a man and woman. He was a handsome man, dark hair, curly and pale skin under the curls. His wife was nothing less than beautiful. Long red hair in beautiful ringlets. Her eyes were sparkling and her smile was nearly contagious. I don't know why but I felt a tear trickle down my cheek landing on the deep blue carpeted floor. I felt movement behind me and John put a hand on my arm, and I glanced up and him rubbing my face.

"Yes, upstairs.. I know it's a bit hard, and you don't have to go up there. You can wait down here. Or outside. We can write down the words and bring them to you." John offered speaking soft and slow, while rubbing circles into my arm. I continued to stare at the picture before shaking my head.

"No, I'm fine honestly. I just... They look so.. Happy, and normal, and familiar.."I whispered before turning away from the mantle and walking past John to the steps, "Sherlock?" I called upstairs, needing to know someone was already up there before I went up to.

"Hurry up will you!" his voice sounded back down the stairs, and I sighed closing my eyes before forcing my legs to carry me up the steps to the second floor.

The smell of blood was even worse up here and a brought a hand to my mouth gagging slightly. I looked around and kept my hand there as I wandered down the dark hallway. I glanced behind me. John didn't follow me up, and I shuttered at how alone I felt in that moment.

Something pressed in on my chest from all angles, a type of fear I wasn't used to and I felt my breathing quicken and my pulse speed up. My feet carried me faster and my eyes darted around before I could opened my mouth to call Sherlock's name someone jumped from one of the rooms grabbing me from behind. I let out an ear piercing scream and punched at whomever had grabbed me with all my might. The person let out a surprised noise and tightened their grip on me. I hear running up the stair, "John! John!" I screamed hoping to god he'd help. The running speed up before halting.

"Sherlock? Hailey?" He asked, confusion dripping on his words, "What are you doing?" I froze. And whomever was holding me loosened their grip, but still held onto me, one arm wrapped around my arms to keep the still the other around my waist to keep me standing. My breathing was short and panicked still.

"I don't know what happened, She was up here, and she was.. looking around and all I did was grab her arm and she started to scream." Sherlock explained looking down at me, eyes genuinely confused by my reaction.

John came over, to my face and looked at me, fear in his eyes. That's when I realized there were tears streaming down my cheeks. He wiped some away and Sherlock helped me stand up, keeping me mobile. A numb feeling came over me, and my eyes widened and my body shook slightly. John's fear increased as he took hold of one of my shoulders holding it,

"Hailey? Hailey what?" I couldn't answer I just pulled out of Sherlock arms and stumbled into one of the bedroom's blindly. A woman laid dead on the floor. I stared at her as tears stung my eyes, burning my cheeks. Both men followed me into the room and I made to go closer to her, crying softly but again someone stopped me, Sherlock. I looked up at him, confused.

"How?" He asked, voice softer now. I just stared back, searching for words, and answers and everything.

"How what?" John asked looking to Sherlock as to why he was acting so strange. I shook my head biting my lip.

"Uni. I knew them in uni. I went to high school with her. She was in all my AP classes and she sat next to me in Spanish." I explained, "He.. He was in my science classes... I .. know them!" Sherlock looked at me, eyes soft a moment before nodding, "Let's go downstairs." He murmured before taking me from the room and down the steps and to the sofa.

I knew them.

Greg texted me and invited me to come for dinner tonight. Might be nice to leave the house. I texted John to see if he was coming. He's too busy with Mary. They're apparently very serious now.

She seems nice enough I guess. Pretty, quiet, smart enough. Nothing too special though. Nothing too outstandingly wonderful.

So until I can write again I bid thee ado.

**Hope you liked. Please review? I'll give you a hug 3 !**


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